


Suet Pudding

by jenny_wren



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:08:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5555405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_wren/pseuds/jenny_wren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme - Bowl of Suet retelling with Les Amis being the ones fleeing the Prussian army and being held at the border until Enjolras agrees to have sex with the Commander of the Guards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suet Pudding

“So does anybody have any guesses for when we might get out of here?” said Courfeyrac, absently picking at the sleeve of his jacket.

There was a muted grumbling and cautiously dark looks across the room at the tables of soldiers who’d decided to hold their party just the wrong side of border.

“Enjolras? Anything to share?” asked Grantaire. He was lying on his back along one of the benches. They’d almost run out of food, but the inn still had bad wine by the barrelful and Grantaire was even drunker than normal.

Enjolras flinched and fidgeted in his seat, “What makes you think I know anything?”

“The Commander certainly seems interested in your pretty face.”

“You know nothing; you’re too drunk to even sit up straight.”

Courfeyrac squinted at his friend. That had been more frantic than harsh, Enjolras was definitely living on his nerves. And Grantaire might be drunk but he always paid attention to Enjolras.

“Enjolras?”

“What?” Enjolras snapped back.

Courfeyrac nudged Combeferre’s arm for help because this wasn’t normal. Combeferre sighed and turned to face them.

“Enjolras, they’re right, you are nervous. Can you not tell us what is troubling you?”

“There is nothing the matter.”

“Give it up Apollo,” Grantaire propped himself up on one elbow to smirk at them. “They’re both on to you now.”

“Shut up Grantaire,” Courfeyrac glared, not in the mood for his attempts at humor. Enjolras looked positively ill. “Enjolras, please tell me what’s wrong?”

All their friends were staring now.

Enjolras slammed his hands down on the table and glared back at them. “Fine. If you must know the Commander has said he will hold us here until I consent to spend the night with him.”

“What!” They all stared in shock. Grantaire actually sat up.

“I,” Enjolras hands fluttered through the air in an uncharacteristic display of distress. “I have refused, obviously. But he will not relent.”

“Well of course you refused,” Courfeyrac attempted to glare down any dissent. “Such a demand is outrageous.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Combeferre. 

But they knew, they all knew, he could see it in the way the other’s dropped their eyes and turned their heads away, that the longer they stayed here the worse the danger. They could not remain here indefinitely, and yet they could not allow the Commander his demands.

“Huh,” Grantaire blinked twice. It appeared the situation had only slowly penetrated his alcoholic haze. “You know, I think I’ll go and congratulate the Commander on his exquisite taste.”

“Grantaire!”

Grantaire ignored their disgusted shouts, wobbling to his feet and staggering across the room to the Commander’s table. Bahorel moved to force him back, but Enjolras caught his arm.

“Leave him be. If he chooses to make a fool of himself, well, it is no different to normal.”

Jehan winced apologetically at Enjolras then sent a quick entreating glance to Feuilly, “I, uh, I think I better go and keep an eye on him.”

“Yeah,” said Feuilly, he flicked a look at Grantaire who was already laughing with the Commander. “Good plan.”

Jehan scurried across the room to join Grantaire, who immediately flung an arm around his shoulders - for balance, Courfeyrac thought snidely given the way he was listing.

Feuilly moved down the table to sit beside Bahorel and began talking quietly but emphatically. Joly and Bossuet huddled together miserably. Combeferre bit his lip.

Courfeyrac folded his arms tightly, deliberately digging his fingers into his arms. He could not believe they were actually thinking… yet what were their options.

Enjolras laughed shakily and picked up Grantaire’s discarded glass and swallowed the remaining wine in one go, leaving his mouth stained and red.

Across the room Grantaire had started to tell one of his smuttier stories.

 

By the time evening fell Grantaire was sitting at the Commander’s table sharing his dinner. Jehan perched nervously beside him on the arm of his chair, nibbling at the morsels of bread and chicken Grantaire passed him.

Feuilly had found a pack of cards and he and Bahorel were betting matchsticks with some of the troopers. Joly and Bossuet were pressed in close together talking quietly, and from the snatches of conversation Courfeyrac could catch, attempting to write poetry.

Enjolras had been drinking steadily, mouth screwed up against the sour taste.

Courfeyrac had walked around the small inn half-a-dozen times and only succeeded in getting hot and sweaty in the harsh heat of the sun. He checked on their horses in the stables and rubbed each one down. Prickly with heat and straw he returned to the inn more restless than ever. He had badly wanted to wash himself down but there was only a pump in the yard full of troopers lounging around in the fading sun and he could not bear to so expose himself.

Quietly he entered the musty dark, dropped down on the bench beside Combeferre and rested his head against his friend’s shoulder. Combeferre stopped pretending to read the small medical dictionary and looked up.

“Better?”

“No.”

Combeferre nodded, “Me neither.”

“Are we actually going to let this happen?”

“I don’t see that we have any choice.”

They both looked at Enjolras.

“We would support him if he wished to continue his resistance,” said Courfeyrac, because they _would_.

“It would be an impractical course of action,” said Combeferre. Which was neither a yes or a no. Courfeyrac supposed he couldn’t expect Combeferre to have an answer when he was so hopelessly conflicted himself. He sighed and looked down at his hands.

A bray of laughter from the Commander’s table jerked his head back up.

“Fair warning,” he said to Combeferre, “I may kill Grantaire when this is over.”

“I may join you.” Combeferre’s glare at the table was heavy with hate. “He was jesting earlier that if he had fifty men under his command he too would take the opportunity to see if marble could grow warm and welcoming.”

There was nothing Courfeyrac could say that wasn’t profanity so he didn’t say any anything at all.

Slowly the sun dropped lower in the sky and finally the Commander rose to his feet. He walked over to their table Grantaire at his side.

Enjolras lurched to his feet and looked nowhere but at Grantaire, “So here you are revealed as you truly are Sinon,” he named the treachery aloud.

Grantaire’s ugly face twisted up with laughter, “Iphigenia, get thee to thy marriage bed,” he sneered.

Heavy hands on his shoulders blocked Courfeyrac’s attempt to stand. Twisting wildly he saw Feuilly behind him, and beside them Bahorel was casually leaning down on Combeferre with his full weight, stopping Combeferre’s own instinctive rise to his feet.

Enjolras nodded coolly to Grantaire then pressed himself against the Commander’s side and it was obscene to see Enjolras’ tall grace contorting to the Commander’s short fat form as they walked together up the stairs.

Before Courfeyrac could discover what he wanted to say, Grantaire had launched into a loud celebratory toast, followed by enthusiastic cheers from the troopers.

While he was still the focus of all eyes, Grantaire called out, “Now quick, let us see how our young Ganymede fares.” 

Face alight with evil mischief, he led them outside and then beckoned one of the bigger troopers to him, using his broad frame to assist his scramble up the side of the inn so he could peer into the Commander’s window.

The night took on the dimensions of a nightmare as they listened to Grantaire glory in their friend’s rape. With no other choice Courfeyrac could not help but listen, the words slowly curdling in his ear. It was worse because every now and then Grantaire would glance in the window and whatever he saw would startle a genuine laugh from him. Courfeyrac could see it in the way his shoulders bobbed, a world away from his theatrical shows of nearly falling off the window ledge.

Combeferre had closed his eyes, “He has to wear his voice out eventually.”

Except Grantaire was exceptionally good at talking for long periods and when his voice began to crack and cough, Jehan shimmied up the wall beside him and handed over a bottle for him to refresh himself from.

Courfeyrac rubbed his face with a dirty handkerchief, “It does not sound over much like Enjolras,” he ventured, after a glowing description of Ganymede’s coy surrender to desire.

“Grantaire always plays to the crowd. But no, it does not sound over much like Enjolras.”

After one particularly rhapsodical description of Ganymede’s despoiled beauty, Grantaire started to cough helplessly. Combeferre said,

“We should do something,” and stood up. Courfeyrac staggered up beside him. Out loud Combeferre said,

“We might have to let it happen, but we do not have to listen to it.”

He stormed forward with the clear intention of dragging Grantaire down from his perch, but the troopers were in no mood to let them spoil sport and they were beaten back. Bahorel and Feuilly had to pull them loose and it was Grantaire who rescued them yelling,

“Hey, hey, you do not want to miss this part.” And the crowd fell silent to listen enraptured.

Finally the troopers began to fall where they stood as the drink caught up with them. Grantaire grew quieter and, as the last of his audience fell into drunken stupor, slid down from his perch in silence. He threw up as soon as his feet touched the ground, Jehan fussing over him.

Courfeyrac checked his pocket watch, it was would not be long til dawn. They fell into an uneasy sleep.

He blinked as hands roughly shook him awake.

“Bossuet?” he mumbled. It was still dark, there was only the faintest lightening of the sky. Sunrise was still at least an hour away.

“Come on, we need to be going.”

“There’s no light.”

“We’ll lead the horses once we’re away from this place.”

Courfeyrac could find no fault with the desire to leave as soon as humanly possible. He stood and stretched, awkward and stiff in yesterday’s clothes. The horses, already saddled, clacked their teeth against their bits.

Enjolras stood slightly apart from the others. Courfeyrac studied him anxiously. He didn’t appear to be distressed, if anything he looked annoyed. After a moment Courfeyrac identified it as the face he wore when he was particularly exasperated with Grantaire.

The troopers on guard nodded to them, and one of them appeared to be unfortunately alert enough to fetch the Commander who bustled out into the courtyard, his face pale and his eyes dark circled, squinting through his hangover against the faint light. He was headed for Enjolras but Grantaire deliberately stepped into his path.

“Now, now, not so much eagerness,” Grantaire mocked. “Opportunistic plundering is understandable, but to seek it out again, why your men will think you grow soft.”

The Commander cast a quick glance at the watching men and then leaned forward hissing directly into Grantaire’s face, “Trickery and deception.”

Grantaire’s eyes grew wide and shocked, “No, no, you passed a most invigorating night. Any of your men could tell you so. Would you have me say otherwise?”

The Commander was obviously one big ball of fury. His gaze darted all about, his mouth opened and closed, but no help was forthcoming. His anger narrowed down to Grantaire and Courfeyrac could see it coming even before he raised his fist and punched.

“Get away from me, you damn invert.”

Grantaire flew back, falling to the ground. Jehan dropped down at his side.

The Commander stalked forward but Enjolras stepped into his path.

“We’ll be going now,” he said, voice frozen and still.

The Commander’s eyes dropped. His angry glared turned on a nearby trooper, “What are you standing there like a stock for? Let them be on their way and fetch me some more wine.” And he stormed back to the inn.

Enjolras watched him leave, then turned on Grantaire, “For God’s sake, stop rolling around in the dirt. I have had more than enough of your dramatics.”

Grantaire sat up. “I like that. You were the one pulling faces at me.”

“Grantaire get on your horse and _stop arguing_.”

Grantaire got on his horse. They rode away at a fast walk until the twist of the road hid them from view when Enjolras called a halt and they dismounted to lead the horses so as not to risk them on the rutted road in the half-dark.

When it grew light enough for them to push the horses and they knew they were beyond the Commander’s ability to recall, they stopped for a moment before remounting and clustered to together in a nervous huddle, none of them willing to break the fragile silence.

“So,” Bahorel exploded, his voice loud in the quiet of the shuffling horses. “We are not being overly hopeful, are we? We were just saved by Grantaire’s ability to drink anyone under the table and shovel a truly alarming amount of horseshit?”

“Ably assisted by Prouvaire’s ability to look horrified on demand,” Grantaire nudged Jehan’s shoulder companionably and Jehan grinned.

Bahorel swore long and loud in sheer relief. Courfeyrac laughed out loud.

Grantaire preened, “I like to play to my strengths,” he said with all the mock-modesty at his command.

“Why is Enjolras so annoyed then?” demanded Combeferre.

It was true. Enjolras appeared considerably grumpier than expected for one saved from prostituting himself.

After a heavy pause, Enjolras finally said, “ _Iphigenia_ ,” in tones of deep loathing.

“What?” asked Grantaire too innocently. “Was a virgin sacrifice an inappropriate metaphor?”

Nobody said anything although Courfeyrac could hear several people try not to laugh, himself included.

“She wasn’t sacrificed anyway,” said Jehan.

“Of course you both hold with that version of the story,” said Enjolras, still sounding annoyed. “And what would you have done at Aulis?”

“We would have walked,” said Grantaire simply.

“We’d probably have got there faster,” said Jehan, “all the fussing around they did.”

“Or we’d have called the whole thing off and gone home,” Grantaire offered. “That sounds by far the best plan.”

“Motion carried,” said Jehan, as if they were debating back at the Musain. Courfeyrac giggled at hearing the Trojan War so neatly disposed of. It was possible he was a little hysterical.

“You are both ridiculous,” said Enjolras, somehow not including himself that description despite the fact they had stopped running away to debate the Trojan War because he and Grantaire could argue about anything at any time.

“Hey,” said Grantaire, “ _Sinon_.”

Enjolras shook his head, “People always forget Sinon was only treacherous to the enemy side.”

“Talked a good game though, didn’t he,” said Bahorel. “You think we should set Grantaire on the Prussians.”

There was another long pause, possibly like Courfeyrac they were imaging Grantaire talking the Prussians into submission - they’d surrender just to get away.

Finally Enjolras said, “And Ganymede,” but more mildly as if he expected there was an explanation he could live with.

“Is there anyone less like Ganymede than you, fair Apollo? I pity the poor eagle who mistook and thought to carry you away. You’d have his palace in revolutionary ferment before the day was out.”

“I would,” said Enjolras, he sounded very nearly happy. “And you should take more care when drinking someone under the table. I practically had to carry that fool to bed.”

“Only the best for you. And you should take more care when pulling faces at loyal friends out of windows. I had to try so hard not to burst out laughing I nearly fell off the ledge for real.”

“And you would have deserved it. Him snoring like a hibernating bear, and your incessant talking. I nearly jumped out of the window just to escape. Augh!” Enjolras waved his arms through the air and clutched at his curls in a pantomime of disgust. It was first time Courfeyrac could remember Enjolras fooling around in front of all of them - they were probably lucky Grantaire hadn’t fallen off the ledge out of pure shock.

When the snickering had died down, Bahorel raised one hand, “A toast then, to Grantaire - and his ability to drink and talk a load of horseshit. I never knew how useful it could be.”

Grantaire looped an arm around Jehan drawing him into the congratulatory slaps on the back.

“Come on,” said Enjolras, “if we ride fast we can make the border today.” And as they cluttered around remounting their horses, Courfeyrac saw him lean forward and catch Grantaire’s wrists in his hands.

“My friend, thank you.”

Grantaire flushed up poppy-red, “‘s nothing,” he mumbled, “you would have done the same for me.”

Enjolras gave him a pointed look, “I would never talk that much horseshit.”

And Grantaire laughed loud and happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Sinon was the guy who talked the Trojans into taking the Trojan Horse into Troy. His name became a byword for treachery which has always struck me as unfair.


End file.
